No Matter What
by Melitza
Summary: Starting off at the end of the series Ryuhou struggles with the decisions he's made, and Mimori makes some of her own... Ryuhou x Mimori like whoa, spoilers, rated for language, violence. Complete.
1. Cold

**Disclaimer: If I said I owned it, what would ya do? Huh, punk?**

**Claimer: This wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I find Ryuhou and Mimori to be a very interesting pairing, one whose dynamics and possibilities I think are quite interesting. In addition, I wanted to try my hand at one of the general themes to SCRYED, so yeah.**

**Rated M for uh, explicitness? Violence and perhaps a bit of citrus.**

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'_Idiot. You should never have told her the truth._'

Even now, as he watched her from the shadows, the words replayed themselves over and over again in his mind, bitterly mocking him for his own self-dictated crumble in his so-carefully laid out composure.

It had been so hard for him.

"I just want you to tell me the truth – am I important to you?" she had blurt out, unable to meet his gaze. Resolutely, she stared off into the distance, and somewhere deep inside of him, he _knew_ that _this_ was the moment – _this_ was the moment that he had been prepping himself for this entire time.

Every moment since she had come back had been a methodically planned step leading to _this_ pinnacle, and each and every step to ascend to this point had been a battle perhaps more painful than any he had faced before. He was no stranger to pain, at this point in his life.

Once upon a time, his heart had borne wounds so deep and profuse that he was certain his insides were dead – or, if not dead, then certainly wounded beyond any chance of salvation. It was a mortal wound – a pierce through the very essence of him, a terrible blow that irreparably shattered him beyond repair.

It was not the naivety of his youth that had died that day, lying down and simply fading away alongside his mother, strewn in the city rubble like so much refuse. No – it was his heart and his soul that he laid to rest with her, left to rot in a dank hole in the ground for all of eternity.

Ryuhou died that day, but his death was not something to really be mourned. It was better that way, really – safer for those gentler parts of himself, to keep his mother company until omega comes. The Lost Ground is no home for a spirit such as his had been – there was no _need_ for another raped soul with threatening tears and another god-damned sob story. What _purpose_ could such a boy possibly serve? What contribution could he possibly make to the world?

No; the Lost Ground would not mourn the loss of Ryuhou, but rather rejoice for the birth of his replacement – the Alter User, master of Zetsuei, destined to become a most respected officer in the ranks of HOLY. The death of what he was became the birth of what he was to become – and in some strange way, it was all pleasantly symmetrical. The simple logic and clarity offered him a kind of sterilized form of comfort – an arms-length nudge of encouragement.

He had to be strong if he was to pursue his personal crusade. Native Alters, he had been told – he had _believed_ – were the root of all that which had taken _everything_ from him, and so, in his newly generated dispassionate logic, he would return that favor if it killed him.

Killed him… Heh. What a joke. He was already _dead_.

What a perfect warrior he was! Spectacular, really, because he possessed every extra little nudge and drive that ever could have gotten him ahead. He had the power, the strength, and – thanks to his terrible tragedy – the conviction. He believed, and _nothing_ else mattered. _Nothing_. Not his own life – and, though he wished desperately to say he did it all for the protection of those inners without the Alter powers to protect themselves, he had always known it was a misconstruction he told to justify himself.

It was never _really_ about _them_. It was never applied to the real people – the warm, living, and wholly alive people. To truly apply it to them would be to allow himself to care, and to allow himself to care was to allow himself a fatal weakness – a fatal weakness that would lead only to the kind of despair and sorrow that he _knew_ he could not survive ever again. No – he would not be able to morph and adapt next time – of that he was certain.

Next time, he would die, completely and thoroughly.

And, while the thought of dying wasn't in and of itself unappealing – it would, after all, offer some semblance of comfort that was severely lacking in life – it would keep him from attaining his vengeance, as it were. His ideals would be left discarded and forgotten, and somehow, the thought of dying without accomplishing what he had set out to do seemed like an unforgivable treachery.

His mother deserved more than that. All the others who had died innocently deserved more than that.

The part of him that had died that day deserved better than that.

And so was the story that led to what he was. '_What a pathetic anecdote – what a fucking sob story_,' part of him would jab relentlessly, whenever anything within him even started to twinge with the beginnings of emotion. '_Get a fucking hold on yourself. You're too weak – always too weak!_'

Always too weak – _that_ was the only true explanation. He was still too weak – too _human_ – and _that_ was why his goal was always _just_ out of reach, tickling the tips of his fingertips, but never quite within his grasp.

Yes; perhaps he was too weak – but he was making progress. He was so very close…

And that was when _she_ had come.

Mimori Kiryu.

Even now, the slightest thought of her sent a jumbling chorus of mixed chaos throughout him.

He had never truly _forgotten_ her – no, certainly not that. But he had been relatively certain that she was as easily contained as ever other asset of his life. She had been a memory – a fond memory, granted, one that made him warm and giddy with elation from another time – but a memory nonetheless. Mimori Kiryu was as dead as his mother, he rationalized to himself. She was gone, far away, and she likely didn't even remember him.

He would never see her again, and though that pained him on some distant level that he never really cared to look closely at, he made amends with it. She was as dead as his mother – and thusly, it was alright to take pleasure in those memories. It was a morbid and masochistic train of logic, but it _added up_ just the same. Gone, dead, whatever led up to it: it meant none could hurt her – and, more importantly, none could take her from him.

And so, when he found that he simply could not bear his self-imposed solitude anymore, he replayed those few but precious moments over and over again in his head. Even years later – even with the certainty that he would not see her again – she was as much a warm comfort to him _now_ as she had been _then_.

He loved her. He loved her for who she was, for what she embodied, for how she made him feel – and perhaps most of all, he loved her because she was a treasure that was far away, that none could hurt, none could take from him. Mimori Kiryu was a memory, easily cosseted and protected within his heart, the only meager pittance he needed to maintain his relentless drive into the inhumanity he _needed_ to obtain.

Just a memory – a stand alone complex that existed solely within himself. It never even occurred to him to think of her as she might be today – as she might have changed over the years. To think of her as an idealistic, intelligent, beautiful woman. It never occurred to him that perhaps – maybe – she had felt a rapport with him even as he had with her, or that he could ever have meant to her even the slightest fraction of what she was to him.

And so, when he first heard her name – heard the commander offhandedly mention that the Kiryu heiress was coming to HOLY to operate as a scientist, he had refused to believe. Kiryu – the name sent frantic alarms going off through every part of his being.

Kiryu.

Mimori Kiryu.

Here.

_Here._

At first, he wasn't sure which he disbelieved more – the fact that she was coming here, or the fact that she was _real_. That she was _more_ than that cosseted memory – that soul that he wanted to believe so desperately was safe, far, far away from this fucking hell hole known as the Lost Ground that let none escape unscathed.

And yet there she was. Oh, he had spent years upon years carefully building that wall of ice around himself, and it had served him so well that day. He hadn't even looked directly at her, though he wanted to more badly than he had ever wanted anything up until that moment in his life. He had spoken offhandedly, offering some generically sterile greeting, and from her surprised reaction, she certainly had not expected it.

A part of him felt a certain sadistic satisfaction at her nearly pained reaction. The moment he had seen her, he had nearly lost all control.

He had almost raced down the stairway and grabbed her by the shoulders and screamed at her – told her what a stupid little girl she was to come here, of all places – so helplessly stupid to come to such a dangerous place. The muscles in his hands twitched, and though he would later abhor that the thought had ever crossed his mind, he knew that he was not above striking her to make her see the truth. For all that he could never _truly_ hurt her, such an action would surely have effectively severed her bonds with him – but that would have sent her running from this dangerous place. Sent her back to that safe haven that was far, far away from him – somewhere where none of the evils that pursued him could lay hand upon her.

The fact of the matter was, he wasn't really entirely human anymore – and to make her listen, to make her _understand_, nothing was beneath him.

And yet even as he had contemplated this, another part of him wanted nothing more than the fault down that stairwell and grab her in an entirely different – entirely warmer manner. Even then, he had nearly blushed as the fervid fantasies unwittingly crossed his mind.

He wanted to hug her – to touch her – to assure himself that she was entirely real and solid before him. But beyond that, he wanted to kiss her - and more –things much more primal, things that had never crossed his icily logical mind before. Lurid fantasies of intertwining his fingers roughly into the black silken tresses of her thick mane of hair and pulling her head back, tilting her face so that he could press his mouth solidly over hers – of biting her throat and the spot where her shoulders met the graceful line of her neck…

The torrent of thoughts both appalled and excited him. He hadn't realized how his feelings for her had morphed and changed into something so utterly foreign to the innocent love he had known for her until that very moment.

She was a beautiful young woman, with all the poise and dignity that he had imagined she would have. There was intelligence and compassion in her serenely calm mahogany eyes, and he realized all at once that she had come to embody so much more to him…

He wanted so desperately to tell her – and show her – so very many things. He wanted her to know how deeply he cared for her – had pined for her for so long –

- How angry he was that she was _here_.

The emotions flickered back and forth within him, warring for supremacy even as he coolly walked away. Above all else, he was furious – furious that her mere presence for a few _moments_ could send everything he had worked so hard to build himself into spiraling uncontrollably within him.

She had to go; of that much, he was certain. It was the only way – the _only_ way. Above every other factor – every other nuance – that was the absolute truth which he believed.

She had to go home. Back to safety – away from him.

And so he had very carefully buried his inner turmoil – so very carefully turned her away at every turn. He had treated her with such careful coldness – such carefully planned disregard.

But she had remained, in spite of it all. In spite of everything, she had remained, so resolute, so stubborn. It had warmed him and amazed him even as it infuriated him.

She had _no right_ to remain – no right.

And so, even as she remained so steady to her own goal, he remained equally as steady to his own. This was a battle he could win – a battle he _had_ to win. She had to go – she had to go back to safety. This was a battle he _could not_ lose, he knew as surely as he had known anything in his life.

He was winning – it was almost complete. Every painful step of the way had taken him that much closer to that goal, and in that moment, he had known he had won. There was something raw about the question – something at the end of her line.

"I just want you to tell me the truth – am I important to you?"

It was the moment – the moment at which he could so easily send her away. The moment which he had been building to this entire time…

But there was something about that gentle vulnerability about her – something that twisted his heart painfully inside of him. Something about the raw _purity_ to her that made him unable to lie in _this_, _this_ the most important moment of all.

He had squeezed her hand, and his wretched mouth had spoken those words – those words that ruined everything – ruined his methodically laid groundwork, ruined his perfect plan – ruined _everything_. "Yes, you are. Yes; absolutely. Why do you think I wanted you to go back to the Mainland anyway? I wanted to keep you out of harms way. Seven years ago I was able to be myself – mostly because of my mother – and you."

Treacherous, traitorous heart – treacherous, traitorous mind, body, soul!

Gods-damn it all. He loved her – he loved her! That was why she had to _go_. That was why he had so resolutely denied his screaming insides this entire time –

But she was both the key and the door to that part of him that he had thought was dead inside of him – the _true_ him.

But his goals were not yet realized and the momentary slice of paradise was short lived. Everything ended in a brutal battle to the death, and this time was no different.

He should have died, but Scheris died for him. Scheris, his young companion who had been like a sister to him for many years. He held her at arms length, like all the others – but she had always endeavored for more. He had saved her life, once, and for some reason she had decided that she owed him that life in return.

He did care for her, but not in the way she perhaps wanted – but she had realized that, in the end, he knew. She had known of his true innermost desires, and she had still died for him just the same. It amazed him even as it broke his heart. His sister, his comrade – gone for him, even though he was not worthy of such selfless love.

She was another added burden to his already heavy soul. Another reason that he had to pursue his beliefs – another reason he could not give up.

He could not bear another 'reason'. He would not allow her to die – not because of him. '_Mimori – go home… Go back to the Mainland, Mimori._'

Steeling himself, he walked out of the shadows, prepared to say and do anything necessary to accomplish his goals this time.

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**Ok guys – here's where I need you. I'm writing this in a completely different style to my usual one, so… Does it make sense? Skip around too much? The characterization right – wrong – what? Review, email me, etc. etc. – and there is more to come, soon. What do you want to see?**


	2. Warmth

**Still don't own anything. & M for violence/language – so turn away, faint of heart!**

**Thank you so much to all of you guys who've read, reviewed, fav'ed me, put me on your alerts – you guys are the reason I smile. For real. You guys make me soooo happy – and if I could shower you all in cookies and chocolate bunnies, I would. Ninalee-chan, Misteline, Fanfic Connoisseur, azami-x, Wretched-Cursed, Jemi Rose, Skye Mitsukai, and a most special shout out to MiraResQNU (and if you haven't read her Scryed stuff – do it right after you read this! ) – you rock my world!**

**And just for the record, I'm still experimenting with the delivery style – so let me know if it works, if it sucks, or whatever. Just to clarify – this is Mimori's POV, and it jumps around a bit in short-term to long-term flashback style... You'll see (hopefully)…**

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Rough fingers grasped in her hair, calloused fists and elbows and gods knew what else rained upon her, and though she wished she could struggle more, for some reason, her limbs were no longer listening to her.

Blood – it was everywhere. It seeped even when she tried to hold it in, gushing between her grasping fingers, leaving her at a startling rate. Her vision was beginning to darken, and her skin was beginning to feel clammy and cold.

But she smiled; inside, she felt warm.

'_Love… that's all that's ever mattered all along – love…_'

The inners. Konami, Cami – Tachibana, Kazuma, Urizane, Elian, Cougar…

'_Ryuhou._'

It was in the giving that she truly lived – in experiencing, in appreciating that giving, in truly living that love that the warmth was returned to her. Her only regret was not being able to give more…

Distantly, she thought the pummeling was growing less – she thought she heard harsh shouts, but she wasn't sure. She thought she heard her name… but…

Was the red becoming darker, or was her vision fading?

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She had grown accustomed to his not being there.

She loved Ryuhou, but it wasn't a tangible kind of love like one must associate with that strange four letter word. No; it was like a distant kind of love – the kind of admiration one might associate with a museum, an appreciation made to be experienced from afar. Like watching the moon in the sky – a fixation that would chill her to the bone should she remain there in the chill night for too long, but one that she could not help but to endure because she was simply – transfixed.

As a child, she had been showered with affection. Hugs and kisses, verbal compliments and flatteries – like so many pats on the head, so many public displays of emotions, and she had never thought twice on any of it. She had once had a gentle spirit – such a gentle, naïve spirit, and never once had it crossed her mind that _love_ could be anything other than that warmth that she associated with what her family had instilled such an innate, intimate knowledge of – love.

'_Warmth..._' How long had it been, since she had last felt that warmth?

She had come to associate her love of Ryuhou not with the warmth that love had once meant to her, but rather with the coldness that he now was. He was once so gentle – but time had changed him, morphed him into something so different – so unrecognizable.

She didn't want to love what he was now. She didn't want to love this brutally cold Ryuhou, the master of Zetsuei whom none could approach. She wanted to mourn the gentle, kind-hearted Ryuhou – to move on with her life and forget, to tell herself that it was all naught but wishful thinking on her part. Nothing but a memory.

But she couldn't. She loved him now – even as he was now, nothing like as he had been before. Damn it all to hell; she _loved_ him. There was something amazing within him – something so strong in his pursuits. That gentle part of him was there, deep inside, but it was now represented as an icy shield of ideals.

And she loved this facet of him, as much as she wished she didn't. She knew wholly and fully, deep inside of her, that it could not be a satisfying love – how could it be, when he had no room inside that armor for any but himself?

And yet she loved him just the same.

But for all of her selfless love of him, she needed to know – needed to know if he even cared for her at all. He acted with such politely-masked spite towards her that after a while, she began to wonder if perhaps she brought him pain in being at HOLY. She loved him, and she wanted to be with him – but if she did truly pain him so deeply in being here, then she knew that she would not knowingly cause him such hurt.

She had almost been convinced – almost been certain that the feelings could not be requited, almost been certain that not only could they not be requited, but that she _must_ leave for him.

But then, when she had asked – he had told her otherwise. Like a string tied to her heart, she was renewed to be strung along. For a while, she had thought things were about to change – she was certain that she would receive something in return for her investment. She was certain that her warmth would be returned to her – that this cold blanket of solitude, like so much spun glass laid delicately over the surface of her reality – was about to be lifted. That she was to be free, that she could breathe…

And then, he had left. Just like that – refused to even call her by her first name, insisting coldly that she return to the Mainland. He turned his back upon her, he had walked away – and they had not spoken since.

He had his own ideals to pursue – his own seemingly unattainable dream. And true, she had her own as well – but somehow, those ideals did nothing to warm her achingly chilled heart…

Months, and now, two years had passed – and it hurt. She thought she could easily make it happen, in this place where the stars were so close – but as the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months had ticked away, nothing changed. The world whirred by around her, but she stood still – frozen.

Something so innate to her soul was unrealized within her, and she didn't quite understand it.

She didn't understand it, but somehow, Cougar had.

She had stood there, handful of dirt held in her trembling fist, unable to let go – unwilling to let go. Even as the sun was drawn lethargically across the sky, she had stood there, staring bitterly at his coffin. Why Cougar? Why did even Cougar had to die?

"He lived his life exactly as he wanted to," some murmured to none in particular. "He had always known he would die young." Another whispered, "He died with a smile on his face."

'_How could you die on me?_' But one bitter question soon led to another – and she needed to know.'_How did you do it, Cougar? How could you die alone, and yet – happy?_' The vivacious orange-haired youth had loved her – loved her as truly and wholly as she had ever known any love. And yet, it was a selfless love – no strings attached, no expectations or demands of her.

Perhaps he had known all along that she could not requite his love in that way. He _must_ have known – Mimori had to believe that he must have known, or she could never forgive herself thinking that he had been strung along for even an instant. She knew that he had been aware of her feelings for Ryuhou, and he had even encouraged them – tried to go out of his way to accommodate them, to further them.

Gone out of his way to accommodate her feelings for another man, despite the fact that _he_ had loved her. Such was that beautiful paradox known as Straight Cougar. The man who rushed through his life so he could enjoy laid-back moments his eternal hurrying would afford him. Always with a book in hand, always with a cat-that-got-the-canary smile on his face, he had known something that she did not.

She did love him in return. She loved him as the beautiful person he was –not the same way he had loved her, but much deeper than even she had realized until she stood over that gaping hole in the ground, trembling, precariously held over the edge of a grief from whence she was certain she could never return.

Later, she would realize their parallels – and perhaps it was another bond that linked them so closely. She loved Ryuhou the way Cougar loved her – and suddenly, more pieces had fallen into place. Requited or not – realized or not, it didn't matter. It was not a stipend to her determination – it did not phase her, not one iota. '_I have to help him, no matter what,_' she had resolutely declared as she marched into Kyogi Mujo's complex, and nothing else had mattered.

Perhaps Cougar had thought that of her all along – to help her, no matter what, even if it was into the arms of another man.

'_Goddamn you Cougar – why did you have to die on me?_' She needed him – needed his mischievous smiles, his cheerful winks, his playful antics. He was like a brother and so much more. He was like the sun that merrily brightened the dark hell of the Lost Ground.

But the sun had set, and she had still stood there over his grave, ignoring the gentle ministrations of her friends as they tried to take her away. The sun had set, and she did not wake up from the terrible nightmare, Cougar did not come skipping out from behind a tree to reveal that it had all been some prank of epic bad-taste.

But still, she did not understand how he could die with a smile on his face. She, who was denied love in return to her own emotional investment in exactly the same innate fashion that Cougar himself had been, and yet she lived and cried, and he died and smiled.

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How funny that she should think back on it all now – how it should all flit through her mind, like so many mysteries that she needed to know the answers to before she died.

Before she… died…

Konami's scream had rung through the air, and she hadn't even thought about what she was doing. Without a backwards glance, she had abandoned the far corner of the field where she had been planting seeds. Rocks had blurred into one jumble of neutral color as she rounded corner after corner, desperately seeking that desperate scream down the trail.

She loved Konami like a sister, and so she didn't even think about running to the girl's aid. She didn't think about any danger – the only thing she thought of was her love for Konami, and her desire to help the girl – '_no matter what…_'

"Come here, little girl –"

"What a sweet little piece of –"

She swung around the corner with no warning, and the small band of men seemed shocked by her sudden appearance. There was, perhaps, a dozen of them, and they looked none too kind. As it were, they were a ragged bunch, judging by the ill-fitting, ill-kempt clothing that seemingly hung off of them. Many were haggard, but that said nothing – many people in the Lost Grounds looked haggard these days. But somehow - though different shapes and sizes – each managed to look _dangerous_. There was something wild and reckless that shone in the eyes that looked up at her in surprise, and Mimori knew that these men were the kind of low-life scum that lived off of what they could steal from those who worked hard.

A single quick glance was all it took to see that both Konami – and Cami, who was with her – were unharmed.

She didn't even remember carrying the hoe with her until she brandished it in front of her. "Let them go!" she demanded, her grip near white-knuckled on the garden utensil clutched in her hands.

"Like hell! We found 'em, fair and square!" one of the gap-toothed young men leered. "In fact – we might add you t' the collection too…"

"Let them go – we'll give you whatever else, just let them go," Mimori felt it necessary to give them one more warning.

"Fuck you," and many more, even less flattering snorts was the unanimous reply. When one of the men shifted his grip on Konami, she didn't even think –

She had never really fought before. She had grown up without siblings, and she had typically gotten along with her peers rather well. She relied on careful words and mutual respect to resolve problems –

The reverberate shock that coursed up her arm when the wild swing connected solidly with his head had come as something of a surprise. As a matter of shock, several of the men had jumped to the side to avoid the bright crimson that seemed to splash from her victim, and as such, it provided Konami with an easy way out. Thankfully, the other young woman took it without question, quickly running behind Mimori. Cami, too, used the opportunity to slam an elbow into her captive's stomach and squirm her way behind her would-be savior.

In another situation, the thought that she had just cut open a man's head with a hoe may have horrified her. The blood that pumped so languorously now upon the earth would have disgusted her, and the fact that _she_ had caused it would have been unthinkable.

But this was not _another situation_. This was a group of men who meant to hurt two girls who she held very dearly to her heart – two girls who she loved like sisters – and she would do anything to protect them.

'_Anything…_'

"You – you – you fucking bitch!" one of the burly men screamed in rage, his voice cracking as he looked to his felled comrade. "I'll fucking kill you!"

"Run," Mimori commanded without even a second thought.

"Mimori –" Cami remained staring in silent horror, but Konami seemed to balk. "No – Mimori –"

"Run back to the farm! Get help!" Mimori nearly shouted at the girl, and felt no remorse for her harsh tone. When Konami continued to balk, beginning to say something about not leaving her behind, Mimori hissed, "Cami – take Konami back to the farm _now!_"

Cami paused only momentarily – seeing the men beginning to move forward as one, she quickly made the decision to comply. "Konami – come on!" Even though it was true, Konami was a young woman now, Cami had a few years on her – and so, the brief struggle behind her sounded short lived as Cami likely _dragged_ Konami away. "We'll get help, Mimori!" the red-haired girl promised hurriedly, and Mimori only dipped her head, not even turning to look as the girls fled.

'_It'll be too late…_'

"No – Mimori! _No, Mimori!_"

'_But it's ok… you'll be safe…_'

Echoes of the past reverberated insistently inside her head, but this time, they seemed to make perfect sense. '_It's ok. Because I love you both, and I only want you to be safe._'

If the only way for those she loved to be safe was to provide her own body as a shield, then so be it. '_I have to help them, no matter what._' It was like her duty – like – the pinnacle of existence.

Like the true essence of culture.

'_I understand, now._' She smiled.

Perhaps Konami used her Alter to glimpse within her. Perhaps she spied her deepest inner thoughts – or perhaps she simply noted the way the older girl planted her feet solidly on the ground, clearly not about to back down. Either way, Konami screamed, but Mimori noted with grim satisfaction that the screams were growing more distant by the second.

'_Good girl, Cami._'

A man tried to swing wide around her, clearly going after their fast fleeing quarry, but Mimori once again wildly swung her farm instrument, this time catching the man full in the stomach. She almost got a kind of perverse joy from the wet connection of wood and metal to flesh – because that connection meant that Konami and Cami were one step further from danger.

"You shall not pass!" Mimori snarled, taking another wild swing as two men made a grapple for her arm. In one small part of her mind, she noted how that statement sounded like something Ryuhou might say.

'_Is that what it's like for you, Ryuhou? Are you also only defending an ideal – trying to find that thing that will complete you… warm you?_'

He had a gentle soul somewhere within him; _that_ she knew. He cared for Konami like a sister, that she also knew – and should he meet Cami, she imagined he'd care for her much the same. He was a good man. Distantly, she wondered if he'd be happy that she had done this, or angry at the reckless way which she had done it.

It didn't matter.

This time a man did manage to get a bruising grip around her arm, and he yanked her back with such force that she turned her ankle in the process of falling back against his hard chest. Ignoring as his bear-like hands mauled for purchase upon her, she continued to swing her makeshift weapon.

'_Run, Cami, Konami – run, and don't look back…_'

She slammed a desperate sharp elbow into her captor and he dropped her, but it was so abrupt that she stumbled forward. She tried to swing to clear her perimeter, but she felt another pair of hands solidly grappling for her weapon. When another pair of hands joined the first, the weapon was easily ripped from her white-knuckled grip, leaving splinters in its wake.

Her knees tore as she was strewn across the rocky ground, but she didn't stop struggling there. Even as she tried to leap back to her feet, a stray fist cracked solidly against her cheek, knocking her back again.

She gouged the eyes of the first man who leapt upon her sprawled form, and managed to get a knee up to halt the descent of the second.

"I'll fucking kill you, you bitch!" Hands twined in her hair, yanking her head back, but she threw a sharp elbow and connected solidly with the man in front of hers face. He returned in kind, hitting her again and again until her world spun. He hit her so hard she felt her lip split, and the coppery taste of blood gave the entire experience a flavor to match the sensation.

'_Run!_' Every moment they were preoccupied with her, her beloved soul sisters got one step further from danger.

She was bodily hauled to her feet, arms wrenched so hard behind her that her bones cracked and creaked. It was a wonder they weren't already dislocated. Even without her arms, she kicked.

The punch to her stomach hurt more than she ever imagined such a blow would hurt. She coughed and gasped for air, but wasn't even given the chance for that as she was hit again – and again. She hardly even noticed when a knife was added to the fist.

Blood dripped from her chin from the split lip, and as her head hung down, she noted absently that blood was now staining her abdomen – running down her legs. '_I'm going to die._' It should have horrified her – terrified her – but it didn't.

A man tried to shove his face over hers, but she spit a mouthful of blood into his face, earning another bruising backhand that snapped her neck back.

She was feeling cold now – so cold –

'_I'm going to die._' And then, quickly, the thought echoed, like a mantra in life to be realized in death. '_It doesn't matter. No matter what._'

It was enough time – Konami and Cami should have been nearing the farm by now. And somehow, knowing that – knowing that they were safe, that she had saved them from this fate – it made her warm.

Wamth – when was the last time she had felt this warmth?

Mimori smiled.

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**Things aren't looking too good, and I'm a little unsure which way I want to go from here. It's a crossroad for the genre of this story, which I haven't entirely decided yet. So, let me know what you think… Angst? Tragedy? Romance? What, what?**

**And did this make any sense? Is the style ok, might it have been more effective in another style… Or…?**


	3. Plead

**Disclaimer: I don't own, you don't sue. You'd get a jenk deal if you did – I got snuffin'.**

**Sorry for the delay. School, work, and muse all conspired against me at once. But, because you guys have been such a great bunch of reviewers, I kicked myself back into gear just for you.**

**Hope this was worth the wait. Let me know what you think.**

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With naught more than a single strangled cry of "Konami!" he was gone. No other explanation – no preamble or quick words to explain the abrupt departure. Just that single word – that single name – and his alter had already formed – he was already whirring away in an abrupt leaping flight.

Such was typical of Kazuma – no consideration for the past or future, none for others – just the now. Like an animal, really – easily distracted by whatever happened to present itself at any given moment.

But even so, even as his analytical mind wanted him to scoff and be irritated by the abandonment of his erstwhile brother-in-arms, Ryuhou found himself on his feet, his insides both tingling and boiling in that distinct manner that precluded the summoning of his alter. He took a step to follow him before thinking better of it – before slowly, uneasily sitting back down on a barren rock on the quiet shore.

He didn't entirely understand the seemingly psychic bond that coursed between the two of them, but he imagined it had something to do with her newly developing alter. She probably reached out to him unconsciously – thoughtlessly reaching for the one she trusted above all others – her knight in shining armor.

There surely was no threat beyond their vigilant defenses from the mainland that Kazuma couldn't handle alone. And so, Ryuhou ignored the disquiet within him – told himself that he _wasn't_ being a pompous ass, an unforgivable coward for not following Kazuma to his goal. No – he was simply being cautious. Responsible, even.

He was assuring that no attack from the Mainland occurred in their stead. He was assuring their safety by remaining here, just the same as Kazuma was assuring their safety by going to Konami at her call for help…

'_You're assuring that you won't run into _her,' a traitorous part of his mind needled relentlessly, and Ryuhou was far too logical to dismiss the claim. Yes – he _was_ assuring he wouldn't run into her, but that was for the best as well. He didn't know what would happen if he did see her again – he didn't know if he could keep it up any longer.

He was so cold – so lonely, and so tired. But even after so many long months – years by now even, gods above – even after so long that he could not even trust himself to look upon her from a distance – even _now_, the mere thought of her warm brown eyes caused his insides to burn in a way that was painful and comforting and exciting all at once.

Glancing once again at the chasm of emptiness left by Kazuma's abrupt alter usage, that part of his mind continued to whisper treacherously, baiting him. Would _she_ call for _him_, were she in danger? And if she did… would he hear her?

The errant idea discomfited him in a deeply primal way that he was loathe to examine more closely. But even as he winced uncomfortably, looking longingly in the direction of Tachibana's home where all the others stayed, something inside him shifted, hardening even as he crossed his arms stubbornly. '_Don't be such an idiot. The path you have chosen for yourself is one of war – of violence. There is no turning back now._' And with less conviction, '_You can't turn back now…_'

Yes; he was confident in Kazuma's ability to take care of anything that could have happened to warrant his abrupt departure – or so he kept telling himself as the seconds agonizingly became minutes.

But more importantly, he was confident in Kazuma's ability to return after the danger had passed. Confident in Kazuma's ability to turn his back on something he clearly cared so deeply for – to ignore the warmth for the cold, to stay the course and fight the fight.

It was the only thing he trusted to Kazuma more than he trusted to himself.

But as the minutes continued to tick by, something terrible began to gnaw away at his insides, something that refused to leave him to his pathetic semblance of peace until he was able to ascertain some sort of assurance. And so, with a forlorn sigh, Ryuhou went to acquire that elusive entity, never quite realizing that he would receive quite the opposite until the very end…

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The moment he came within eyesight of Tachibana's house, he knew something was terribly wrong.

The sense of dread first awoke when he saw Kazuma standing on the front porch, awkwardly holding a near hysterical Konami. The young girl looked near collapsed in his arms, but the closer Ryuhou came to the scene, the more certain he became that the young girl was not injured.

Though he continued to approach them at a calm, steady pace, he felt as if he were standing still – or as if the house were moving further and further away with every step he took. From the midst of her sobbing, Konami glanced up absently at him, almost as if looking _through_ him, but her gaze did not linger long. Her soft brown eyes flitted back to the ground almost guiltily, refusing to meet his, and if anything, she seemed to cry harder when she saw him.

He didn't even notice that he had paused in his approach until another voice – a soft feminine and most distinctly _non-_Mimori voice – hailed quietly from the door. "Ryu…hou?" She furrowed her brow, clearly uncertain about her own deduction, peering closing at him.

Some distant, socially well-trained corner of his mind insisted that this young girl must be Cami, Tachibana's much-talked-about girlfriend – but the rest of Ryuhou spat bitterly at the vain attempts of his rigid mind to add formality and structure and some semblance of comforting _norm _to this situation. Gritting his teeth, he didn't want to ask – he didn't _want_ to, but needed to as much as he needed to breath, or eat, or drink to live. He needed to ask the question, even if he feared it. "Where is she?"

"Ryuhou – I'm –" Her voice broke, and there were tears shining in her eyes as well. There was a red stained towel in one hand, and the mere sight of it nearly drove him mad.

"Where _is_ she?" His voice was hoarse, tight, as if he hadn't had water in days. "I need to _see_ her!"

"Ryuhou – I'm – I'm _sorry!_" she cried, and there was something in her tone – some hint of _pity_, of true and heartfelt grief that he simply couldn't bear.

"_No!_" Frantically, shouldered his way around her – and the moment he looked into the shadowy interior of the house, he wished he hadn't.

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Blood had never particularly bothered him before.

Indeed, his mother's death had been pointedly bereft of any physical manifestation of the crimson life force, as if even an inanimate, uncontrollable _thing_ like the thick stuff coursing through her veins was unwilling to spoil it, loathe to mar the serene looking slumber. His mother had been torn from this life violently, for sure – but there was no scarlet that haunted the vivid nightmare, and thus, Ryuhou had never really ascertained any particular preconceived _horrors_ when it came to the stuff like so many others seemed to have.

Oh, certainly Ryuhou was familiar with physical injury. How many grave physical wounds had been inflicted upon him – how many had he seen inflicted upon others? Too many to tally on either account. He had often wondered, even as he drove himself recklessly beyond his own limits, if perhaps _red_ should be a more fitting color for a surrender flag. Surely that was what the body urged – and, the stronger, the more resilient that crimson banner, the more unerringly it announced the final fall.

Not his fall, of course. No, the red signaled the fall of his enemies, and occasionally, his allies. Acquaintances, perhaps – coworkers, for certain – but never _friends_. He kept them at arms length, always, so that it wouldn't hurt so much if something happened to them – so he wouldn't freeze upon the sight of it.

So no; blood had never bothered him before – _until this moment_…

He froze upon the sight of it – so much – everywhere. It looked too bright, staining the white sheets upon which she was laid; too wet, soaking through the makeshift bandages and pads pressed over her ribs; and altogether too _red _– too _much_, everywhere.

In a single moment, an entire lifetime of apathy came to an abrupt and violent turnabout, and Ryuhou suddenly realized how very much he both hated and feared the color red.

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"Ryuhou." She paused, staring at him with a wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights expression. How she knew it was him, even swathed and hidden in shadows he wasn't sure – but somehow, those warm brown eyes cut through _everything_, all the pretences, all the disguises – _everything_. Somehow, she laid his heart and soul bare before her with a single hopeful look.

"Mimori –"

"Ryuhou!" Her feet shuffled, and she made as if to run to him. Panic coursed through him –

'_No!_' He felt an irrational fear of her touch course through him – if she touched him, it would all fall through – as if his entire resolve would crumble. Just a single touch, and it would all bleed through – it would all show. It would be over.

Desperately, he grasped for the one meager barrier he could summon on such a short notice – to use the formal, distancing name that would force her to the arms length he had kept her so carefully at for so long. "Ms. Kiryu." It worked – she hesitated, and his heart soared. There was hope, after all. Stoic mask firmly in place, he spoke with more confidence this time. "Ms. Kiryu – I have come here today because there is an important favor I need to ask of you."

She hesitated, confused, but prompted nonetheless. "A favor?"

"As long as the mainland government's policy remains the same the people here will refuse their interference. I will personally support them. If the mainland tries to control us by force, I'll fight back using the greatest power I can muster." With every rigid word, he gained momentum. Yes; this was what he believed. This was what he needed to do, and therefore, it was what he was going to do. "If you stay here it is likely you will never see your parents again. It's still not too late. Go back to the mainland. Go back, Mimori."

"No Ryuhou I can't do that!"

So stubborn – she had always been so stubborn! Gritting his teeth, he verily snarled, "Why not?"

"Because I won't go – I refuse to go anywhere without you!" Her words poured straight from the depth of her heart – straight from a warm pool that rested somewhere in the core of her – so readily drawn from a part within that was quintessential to her very existence. It was truth and passion, spoken for the singular sake of that truth and passion.

"Mimori…"

"I know. This is how I choose to live my life." There was a deep sadness in her claim, even as the swift wind blew her midnight locks before her face, her papers rustling wildly as they floated away, all but forgotten.

He dipped his head sorrowfully, hearing something in her voice that reverberated within him – something steely and resolved, and in that moment, he knew that this was a battle that he could not win today. "I understand." Oh yes, he understood all too well. "Well then, I am going to follow the path I have chosen for myself as well." With steely resolve of his own, he turned and began to walk away. "Goodbye."

"Wait. Ryuhou wait! _Wait_!" He was startled when he felt the abrupt impact of her upon his back – and even more so when he felt her impromptu embrace, her arms wrapped so tightly around his chest. Not so tight as to warrant his sudden breathlessness, however…

"Is there any chance of our paths meeting again somewhere? Can we be together? I love you! I do love you!" There was something breathy and frantic and thoroughly _true_ about the rushed exclamation – something deep and powerful – something that clung painfully to him, constricting his chest, making it hard to take in another breath, threatening to wash him away.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to think – forcing himself to just _breathe_.

"Scheris Adjani lost her life using her Alter power… to save me." A rush of guilt panged at his heart, to use his comrade, his _friend's_ death as a weapon – as a _tool_ in an argument, a mean to an end. It was despicable, it was underhanded, and most of all, it was cruel.

But none of these things were beneath him. Nothing was beneath him – not when it came to this. Not when it came to her safety. '_I'm sorry, Scheris… I hope you can understand…_'

Mimori reared back, shock and hurt glinting deep in the soulful pools of her eyes. "No!" Her voice wavered even as her grip did, giving him the much needed chance to pull away from her – outside of her grip, he would be able to think clearly – be able to stop the painful thundering of his heart, beating wildly in his chest.

"Please go back to the mainland." He did not turn around – not even when her forlorn cry slid like an icy blade through his back. He didn't look at her – he couldn't.

"Ryuhou!"

"Please." A safe distance away by now, he jerked out one arm to the side, summoning his Alter armor. He almost laughed aloud at how pathetic he was, to summon the armor just to assure she could not touch him – to use his power to portal away just so she could not follow him.

What a pathetic, despicable coward. What a sorrowful excuse for an Alter user – a warrior who needed to utilize his fiercest, most powerful weapon just to defend himself from one gentle young woman…

'_I'm… sorry Mimori…_'

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Images of their last meeting replayed over and over again behind his eyes, crashing into him like so many crippling waves. It tore at him, ripping at his cold heart, shredding at his broken soul.

Tachibana was clearly hard at work, trying to use his Alter to heal her as best he could. A doctor was also at hand, clearly trying desperately to stem the blood flow. Neither heeded him – and for the first time in his life, Ryuhou didn't care about keeping face before onlookers.

Shamelessly, he faltered over her – there was so much blood, and he wasn't sure what he could do. Oh god – he didn't even know where he could touch her without hurting her – there was just too much blood. His hands trembled violently as he finally couldn't take it – he needed to touch her, anywhere, if only to assure himself that she was _here _before him.

Even as he clutched desperately at her red-slicked hands, he was depraved of what little comfort he had hoped to attain. Her skin was cool beneath the warm, sticky blood. He pressed his fingers hard against her wrist, taking only meager comfort in the shallow pulse that throbbed there as proof of her life…

"Mimori – can you hear me?" Frantically – roughly, even – he rubbed his hands over hers, trying to warm them. Brief anger flashed through him, and he nearly shouted, squeezing hard against her dainty fingers. "Mimori – god-dammit answer me!"

He _was_ angry – angry that this had happened – angry at himself, for letting it happen. Angry that he had been '_blessed_' with an Alter power that could only destroy, not heal.

Somehow, the harsh shout which sounded _far _too loud for the small room seemed to break through her haze. Her brows furrowed the slightest bit, and slowly, with so much difficulty, she cracked her eyes. Even after having been so betrayed by him – even after being so weakened, pained, and injured, lying in this bed, she somehow managed to smile when she saw him. "Ryu… hou…"

"Mim –"

"Shhhh…" Just barely, she shook her head. Painstakingly, she returned the embrace of their intertwined hands, pulling them to her face. Never before in his life had such a small gesture send such turbulent emotions coursing through him. Somehow, she seemed take great comfort in the feel of his fingers against her cheeks. Desperately eager to please her, he caressed her face with one hand, resolutely ignoring the trails of crimson blood left highlighting her delicate features, continuing to clutch her hands with his other.

When she sighed, he barely heard her whispered word. "You are… my warmth…" Her eyes slipped closed, and then, she was quiet. A moment later, he felt her grip slackening – and suddenly, he became too-acutely aware that the silence was permeated only by his desperate pants; their hands only moved by his impassioned clutching.

"Mimori… Mimori, please don't go…" He didn't even recognize his own voice, now so choked with desperate tears and agony. Instead, he was reminded of hers – hers, so broken and defeated, begging _him_ to stay.

But he didn't stay. He had walked away – he had left her without a backwards glance, like the worthless bastard he was. Some corner of his mind screamed at him that _this_ was his own justice, meted back to him – that it was all a terrible irony designed by the most depraved, twisted god out there. Was this how she had felt, standing deserted in his wake?

He would take it all back – he would spend the rest of his life taking it back, if only she would answer him _now_. "Mimori… _please_… Oh god, please, Mimori…"

_With steely resolve of his own, he turned and began to walk away._

Her hands were going limp, blood-slicked and slipping from his desperate grip. Letting him go.

"I love you! I do love you!" It was him crying now – begging shamelessly. Baring his soul, as if it would tip the scales.

_He did not turn around – not even when her forlorn cry slid like an icy blade through his back. He didn't look at her – he couldn't._

It didn't, of course. Now then, not now.

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**I _could_ end it here. But, ohhh, should I be greedy and say like, 10+ reviews says I won't? So, 29 reviews total? Please? Pretty, pretty please?**


	4. Never Go Away

**Disclaimed.**

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"Mimori…" His voice caught in his throat, and like some squeamish schoolboy he was compelled to stare at the ground. There were tears that choked at him, making it difficult for him to continue, as if he were unable to face her – and perhaps he was. "I love you… I've always loved you… I'm so sorry – if only you could forgive me about before…"

She didn't reply, but then again, he wasn't expecting her to. It was always like this, now – he poured out his heart for her (_only for her, always for her_), and her silence was slowly killing him…

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'_Crack!_' Was it the sound of the man's cheekbone shattering, or was it his finger finally cracking from the endless abuse?

It didn't matter, of course. Nothing did; he was livid – wild, _mad_ even. He was a god of destruction, even without Zetsuei as his ominous shadow. Even without his terrible, freakish curse –

It _was_ a curse, wasn't it? Without it he could have left the Lost Ground – _would have _left the Lost Ground, he insisted to her in his mind. Without it he could have gone to her, and she never would have had the need to come _here_ – _here_, to this terrible, cursed place. Without it they would have had a normal life, he promised her in his soul.

Could he have ever been happy with a simpler life filled with happiness and luxury? He barely remembered who he had once been, in his childhood – it was a lifetime ago, and he couldn't remember having ever had anything but a jaded life filled with nothing but cold violence and a distant goal of more cold violence. True, he had grown up the heir to the powerful Ryuhou dynasty, but he had pushed it all aside after that day…

But things _could have_ been different, he swore to her in his heart. They could have been – if only –

_Did she know?_

"You goddamned _son of a bitch_!" It wasn't like him to lose his calm; it wasn't like him to sully his own hands, to fight like a _primitive_… To kneel and weep, weak and broken for all to see…

The man screamed and Ryuhou was vaguely aware of blood sprayed across his face, ruby red slickness layered over the crusty vermillion that had already dried there. There had been no time to stop to wash it off since the last one –

_But really, he had all the time in the world…_

It wasn't like him to let himself look so unkempt; to fight so sloppily as to allow the other man cheap shots at him between punches, and yet, Ryuhou couldn't bring himself to care. In point of fact, he might even be thankful if this man – the last of the bandits he had left to hunt down – pulled a knife and made such a cheap shot. He would welcome the end.

_I miss you so bad…_

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It was Cami who had touched his arm, trying to break him out of his near-madness. "Mr. Ryuhou –" she had tried, uncertainly, but he couldn't bear to look away from _her_, so pale and fragile and _unmoving_ on the cot before him. Cami tried again, speaking insistently, placing a cool hand gently on his biceps as if to lead him away. Eventually, of course, some of her words broke through his thick haze, and he understood what she was saying: Tachibana and the doctor needed the space to work and the silence to concentrate in.

It was like a blow to the gut when he realized that there was absolutely nothing he could do – in fact, that if he _did_ stay he would only be hurting Mimori's chances of survival. It was such a bitter turnabout; that his Alter – his _gift_, she had called it – could do nothing to help her.

He was powerless now, even as he was back then…

And so, he had been forced to focus his attention elsewhere. It seemed only fitting that he went back to violence; it was like slipping a well-worn, familiar glove back into his bloodstained hands. Hunting down the bandits responsible and verily _slaughtering_ them one by one was like second nature to him.

It didn't bring him any respite, though. It never really had, and he imagined it never really would.

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When Tachibana found him, Ryuhou knew something was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to really _understand_ what he was being told.

'_I'm so sorry Ryuhou_…'

He couldn't _really_ live without her; he had barely even been able to live knowing that she was in danger, living on the Lost Ground. If something happened to her, deep down he knew that his heart would break in two. He had devoted every effort, expended every measure he possibly could to assure her safety. He had tried so very hard…

'_We did everything we could…_'

Yes he loved her – she was _his_ warmth, and he promised her that it would be the first thing he would tell her (no, _show_ her) when she woke up. He promised that he would spend the rest of his life doing just that…

'_We did everything we could…_'

He had just stood there, staring dumbly at Tachibana as he spoke, unable to bring himself to comprehend. He was supposed to _be_ there, holding her hand – maybe if he had been there, _telling_ her how he felt –

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He was supposed to be by her side, holding her hand, _telling_ her how he felt, not out murdering her attackers. All his noble thoughts of love and reform, and he had slipped right back into his disgusting rut, bathing in blood in his desperate attempt to sooth that ache inside that wouldn't go away.

_That ache inside that would _never_ go away_…

A year had passed (_was it already so long since he had last seen her smile?_), and not a day went by that he didn't visit her. Not a day went by that he didn't tell her how he felt, and not an hour passed that he didn't think of her. None of it made any difference, of course.

Gravestones did not talk, after all, and nothing would ever bring her back.

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**REVIEW! GO GO GO!**

**Actually, I'm feeling a bit sheepish about this one. Before any of you hunt me down, I have to explain to you: Scryed and I have amicably parted ways. It was nice while it lasted (and it still has my favorite hand-to-hand fight scene _of all time_), but my anime additions have led me elsewhere. It was really hard for me to find my muse for this, but once I looked back on your reviews I knew I had to give you an ending. Then, once I was writing it, I really couldn't decide how to end it. So, I read through your reviews, I looked through the archives, and I decided to try to make this one different.**

**There _probably_ won't be any more, but there's always a _chance_ that I decide to do an alternate ending, if I get a _huge_ out-pouring of emotion . But, just the same…**

**It's requited love, just… a little tragically. What did you think? Was the way it was told compelling? Did it surprise/shock you? Does your heart hurt? Is it beautiful/ugly/wonderful/terrible? And, of course, REVIEW IF I MADE YOU CRY!**

**And then, to feed you Ryuhou-Mimori crack addition, you can also go to MiraResQNU!**


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